


Stones Sink So Gracefully

by voleuse



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Maybe our not getting closer to them puts some kind of shine on us</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stones Sink So Gracefully

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. Title and summary adapted from John Ashbery's _When Half the Time They Don't Know Themselves..._

Olive discovered she was in love with the pie maker shortly after she discovered she was in love with his pies.

This was, of course, three weeks and four days after she decided she loved his dog, but the progression of events was relatively unextraordinary, otherwise.

*

 

Olive leaned against the counter and watched Ned frowning at the circles of dough he'd cut for the pie crusts. "You don't look very happy."

"Gnahf!" Ned sputtered, and turned to almost glare--not that he every really glared so much as endearingly furrowed his brow--at Olive. "You know, it could be considered dangerous to startle people who are baking."

"You wouldn't think so," Olive responded. "Aside from the knives, but I've seen you handle your tools. You're quite capable."

"Really," Ned said.

"Graceful, even," Olive replied. "You and your tools."

Ned tapped his fingers against the tabletop, drumming up flour. "I'm really not comfortable with the turn this conversation is taking."

"Yes." Olive measured the arch of his long, long fingers and sighed. "I suppose you wouldn't be."

"What do you--" Ned paused, then shook his head. "Never mind, I'd rather not know."

Olive grinned. "How are those boysenberry pies coming along?"

"I don't want to talk about that either," Ned muttered.

He turned away, and Olive shrugged. "You never, ever do."

*

 

At the end of the work day, Olive took Digby for a walk, stopping by the grocery store, the hair salon, and the window of questionable bookstore.

When she and Digby arrived at her apartment, a couple of hours later, Ned was leaning by her door, his forehead pressed against the frame. "You're late," he said, his voice muffled against the wood.

"You could walk your own dog," Olive observed, and he stepped back two paces as she unlocked the door and let Digby romp inside.

"I could," Ned replied, and he shuffled in behind them. "But the two of you get along so well."

"Excuses," Olive said.

Ned didn't bother to respond. Instead, he curled into her sofa, the line of his body almost fetal, and he watched Digby chase a stray slipper around the room.

Olive put a pot of tea on the stove, and unearthed a warm chicken and a container of potato salad from her grocery bag. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

Digby barked and spun in front of Ned, and Ned folded his arms, as if he was cold. "I could eat," he finally said, but his voice was quiet, almost sad.

"Come on, then," Olive told him, and he stood to help set the table.


End file.
